


Quantum Entanglement

by primalrage



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Barebacking, Canon Compliant, Consensual Sex, Erotica, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Ejaculation, Forbidden Love, Healthy Relationships, Large Cock, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Love, Multiple Orgasms, Music, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES, Penis In Vagina Sex, Piano, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Public Sex, Romance, Romantic Soulmates, Sexual Tension, Size Kink, Teacher-Student Relationship, Uncircumcised Penis, University, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vanilla Kink, he isn't her teacher though, quantum physics, wholesome but also porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primalrage/pseuds/primalrage
Summary: What is that melody?Before the accident that robbed Siebren de Kuiper of his sanity, there was a young pianist...(alternate title: the trashy Sigma erotica that literally no one asked for)
Relationships: Sigma | Siebren de Kuiper/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Dead Dog Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of people skip author's notes, but I just wanted to warn you all beforehand that I am not altering canon events in this story. It does not have a happy ending. I really don't want anyone jumping to read this thinking that it's going to end some way that it doesn't. Siebren still has his accident, and it's all canon after that. HOWEVER - I do feel like this fic is largely a happy one, about a really healthy and refreshing romantic/sexual relationship. If you're sensitive to sad topics and grief, I doubt this will trigger you as long as you're aware of canon. I do just want to make sure you're fairly warned. 
> 
> Written sometime in late 2019, I really never intended to upload this. I don't like to post a lot of the stuff that I write involving OCs, because I generally don't think a lot of people care about other writers' OCs. However, this really has some of my favorite sex scenes I've ever written in it. So I'm going to post in anyway, expecting no one to really read it, but hoping that if you do decide to read it, you'll enjoy the sex as much as I did. This is 100% completed, but it's old and I'm just editing to clean it up a bit as I go. The beginning starts slow, but don't let that fool you - the last half of this fic is sex scene after sex scene, right up until the end.

Violet pressed the button to call the elevator and then took a step back, shifting her bag over her shoulder. She was running late for her Music History class, late enough that she had debated coming at all, but she had never been the kind of student to skip unless it was an emergency. There were only a few weeks left until she was due to perform her original piece for her Introduction to Composition class, and she had lost track of time that afternoon changing a few notes. A lot of her peers had started skipping other classes to focus on their compositions, but she actually struggled more with history. Playing the piano came naturally to her, but dates and names tripped her up.

With a _ding,_ the doors slid opened, and Violet hopped on. She hit the button for the third floor and shuffled into the corner, glancing at the time on her phone. 

"Hold the elevator, please," a man's voice called out.

Violet pushed the button to keep the doors opened and a tall man ducked into the elevator with her. A very, _very_ tall man. She would have guessed he was at least seven feet tall, and as she stared at him, she realized she had seen him before. He was another professor, although she didn’t think he taught in the music department. More than once, though, she had seen this giant in the back row of her classes, listening in to the upperclassmen play. It wasn't unusual for faculty and students to come in during down time and sit in as an audience. 

As she gawked at him, just absolutely _astonished_ by his size, he pressed the button for the fifth floor and said, "You can let go now."

"Oh!" Violet's cheeks burned as she released the button and withdrew back into her corner. _Smooth, Violet,_ she thought to herself, and she let her mousy hair fall into her face as though she could hide behind it.

An awkwardness settled between them as the elevator lurched upwards, and she tried to build up the courage to say something to him, to let him know that she recognized him, or else at least just to apologize for being so scatterbrained. Instead, the atmosphere just became more uncomfortable with every passing second. She stared down at her shoes.

"I recognize you," he said.

She was so relieved for the break in the unbearable silence that she almost could have wept. "I recognize you, too!" she said, "you sit in my comp class sometimes. You gave me a standing ovation the other day."

"Everyone gave you a standing ovation," he said. She looked up at his face and found him smiling down at her, his expression warm and friendly. His eyes were the palest blue-grey, so piercing that it seemed he could see right through her. "You were lovely. You have real talent."

She hated compliments with her whole heart. Because she didn’t find herself worthy of them, they always felt disingenuous. She almost would have appreciated some constructive criticism more. But just as the elevator came to a stop at the third floor, she forced a smile in return and squeaked out a small, “Thank you.” 

She side-stepped out of the elevator, reluctant to take her eyes away from him. He was kind of handsome, she realized, in a severe, professor-y way. “Well, um, it was nice to meet you!”

"We haven't met," he teased her. 

Her face had already been flushed, but she felt it go even hotter. "Ah, I guess that's true..." she muttered. In that moment, she would have been happy with a sinkhole opening under the university and swallowing her alive, dragging her into the molten core of the planet. 

"Siebren de Kuiper," he said, extending a hand through the elevator doors.

She reached back to shake it, and she found his hand was so large that it enveloped hers completely. "I'm Violet.”

The doors began to close, so he pulled his arm back just in time for the elevator to shut in her face. 

* * *

Violet probably never would have realized what a skilled pianist and composer she was if her dog had not died. 

She had always felt utterly unremarkable, ever since childhood. She was neither clever nor funny, so making friends had never come easily to her. Most of the girls her age wanted nothing to do with her because of her nonexistent sense of fashion and her love for musical theatre. Visually, she was pretty enough - tall and slim, with a bony face; there were plenty of less attractive girls in her school, but that had never stopped the bullies from targeting her. Her total lack of confidence was almost debilitating. The way she folded in on herself and avoided making eye contact with others made her seem like a person of total insignificance in the world. If her own life had been a movie, Violet still would have been just a background actor.

So she had enrolled in a university that had been easy to get into and close to home, where she had studied music thinking that _maybe,_ if she was good enough, she could aspire to teach piano one day or to play at weddings. That was as far and as wild as she allowed her dreams to reach. Her professors would show her pamphlets for music programs offered at schools in cities like New York, London, and Oslo, trying to encourage her that she had enough talent to go further in life. Violet had never felt like she deserved any adventure so grand.

But then Barker had died. 

Violet’s parents had adopted Barker from a rescue for retired racing greyhounds when he had been five years old. He was meant to be a family dog, but it had been Violet, with almost no social life, who had spent the most time with him. He was the only living creature she had confided in and trusted. She had often called him her “dog soulmate.” At the age of fifteen, his organs had begun to shut down, and the family had been forced to euthanize him. Home was unbearable after that. The sight of his water dish in her bedroom, the bottles of his prescription pills on the windowsill in the kitchen, the collar and leash hanging unused and unnecessary off the peg on the door in the laundry room - these things had worn away at her until, finally, she’d picked the first music program abroad that she saw advertised on her school’s global initiatives page. 

And at her new university in The Hague, Violet had flourished. While she may still have been unfashionable and plain-looking, every professor and classmate of hers saw how extraordinary her talent was. She had taken piano lessons since age seven, had been writing music as a hobby since age fourteen, but, even so, she had never imagined herself to be exceptional. In some ways, all of the attention was almost intolerable to the shy girl who did not believe in herself. 

But when Siebren de Kuiper had spoken those words to her that day in the elevator - _You were lovely. You have real talent._ \- for the first time in her life, Violet thought that maybe she was good, after all.

* * *

Violet was often one of the last people on campus, working in one of the conservatory practice rooms until most classes were long over and the custodians were at work gathering trash and mopping floors. She didn’t own a piano or even a keyboard, so she relied on the school’s Steinways to get any of her homework done. In any other city, she might have been afraid to walk back to her apartment alone in the dark, but The Hague felt safe, the streets lively late into the night with little cafes and bars. 

There was only a couple of weeks left to go before her final composition performance, so Violet was staying even longer hours than usual. The autumn weather had finally turned from merely chilly to outright cold, and as she left the conservatory, she wrapped her coat closed around her throat and made a note to wear a scarf tomorrow. She put on her headphones and scrolled through the playlists that she had saved on her phone as she walked. Head down, her mind lost in melody, she failed to notice the obstacle in her path until she walked right into it. 

She dropped her phone, and it jerked the headphones off her ears as it fell to the sidewalk. Dozens of sheets of paper caught the air. She looked up through the drifting pages to see what she had run into. 

It was Dr. De Kuiper. 

She was thankful that the darkness of night concealed most of her blushing as she scrambled to gather his papers. Tears of shame burned hot in her eyes. “Oh, shit! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention at all. I can’t believe how stupid and clumsy I am!” 

He bent over to pick up her phone and headphones. “Please, don’t blame yourself. I was not paying attention, either. I had an equation going up here.” He tapped one very long finger to his temple and grinned. Then he glanced down at her phone, which was dwarfed by his massive hand. “It seems to have survived the fall unscathed. Ah -- wait. Tchaikovsky?” 

_Fuck_. Violet thrust the papers at him and snatched the phone from his hands. Now they’d had two absolutely mortifying encounters, and she wished with her whole heart that time machines existed, so she could go back and stop herself from ever coming to this school in the first place. In fact, perhaps she could undo ever being born? “Ha. Yeah. Surprise, surprise -- the music nerd loves _Swan Lake_.” 

“I am an astrophysicist. I can hardly consider anyone a nerd,” he replied. His tone was light and teasing, but that only made Violet more upset. Was he mocking her? But then he added, “I have to make a confession: I have secretly always preferred _The Nutcracker_.”

At this, Violet’s face lit up, and she craned her neck to meet his crystal-clear eyes. He easily had more than two feet on her height. “My grandfather used to take me to see _The Nutcracker_ at our local theatre every single year, until he died when I was in high school. I used to get all dressed up, and we would have dinner at a fancy restaurant downtown before the show. He never took my brothers or sisters. It was our special thing. I miss seeing it live so much!” Theatre was the way to her heart, one of the only subjects that could pull Violet out of her shell, and as she smiled at him in the warm glow of the streetlight, she was beautiful. 

“What a wonderful tradition,” Dr. De Kuiper said, and she saw that his expression was genuine, and he wasn’t mocking her at all. “I’m sure he would be so proud to see the astonishing pianist you’ve become.”

“Th-thank you, Dr. De Kuiper,” she mumbled, and even though she was as uncomfortable with the compliment as always, there was a new heat in her chest - something as volatile as an inferno. 

“Please, we aren’t in class. Just call me Siebren.”

She swallowed around a lump in her throat and nodded her head. “Thank you, Siebren.”

He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, then tightened his grip on his papers. “Have a good night, Violet.” 

“Y-yes. Of course. You, too.” 

With that, he moved past her and disappeared into the conservatory. For a few seconds, she stared at the door he had entered through, willing him to come back outside to her. Even though he was old enough to be her father, even though his hair was thinning and his face was all sharp angles, he had lit this new fire of inspiration and wildness in her heart. She inhaled the frigid air, filling her lungs with it. When that failed to put the fire out, she rushed up the steps, back to the Steinway, suddenly sure of herself.


	2. The Melody

Professor Van den Bos, who taught Introduction to Composition, had office hours the next morning, so Violet woke early to speak with him, all her scribbled lines of musical notes in hand. He was her favorite professor, so she felt that he would be honest with her about the piece she had written last night. It was crazy of her to come up with a new song from scratch this close to the due date, and he might end up telling her she was better off with the first one she’d been working on. Whatever he advised her, she would listen. 

His office door was opened, she saw, which meant that he wasn’t currently helping another student. She was practically giddy as she approached. She just had such a good feeling about this piece. Something  _ magical  _ had happened last night, and she had Siebren de Kuiper to thank. 

_ Siebren _ …

He was there. In Professor Van den Bos’s office, seated across the desk from him. The two were chatting animatedly, and there was a moment before she was noticed when Violet considered just bolting away. It was Van den Bos who spotted her first, as his desk faced the doorway. 

“Oh, Violet! Come in, come in!”

Siebren turned in his seat to offer her a smile. 

“I can come back, Professor,” she said, all of the confidence drained from her at the sight of those handsome eyes, “It’s really not urgent. I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Nonsense, you aren’t interrupting a thing. Violet, this is my friend Siebren de Kuiper. He teaches physics and astronomy for the University’s science department, but he’s also a lover of music. He teaches an elective course here at the conservatory - The Science and Mathematics of Music! He’s also doing some research right now on gravitational waves and music; it’s all a lot of stuff I don’t understand.” 

“Violet and I have met before,” Siebren said.

“Oh, really? You’ve taken one of his classes, have you?” Van den Bos asked. 

“No,” Violet replied, still hovering in the doorway, unwilling to be closed into such a small room with Siebren. She hated herself at that moment. So many young women her age could speak normally or even flirt with the men who excited them in the way that Siebren excited her, but all that she could do was panic. 

“We’ve bumped into each other on campus once or twice. Quite literally. I’m ashamed to admit I nearly ran her over last night. I wasn’t watching where I was walking,” Siebren said. 

“That sounds just like you. Always with your head in your formulas and things,” Van den Bos sighed, shaking his head, “Violet, dear, what can I help you with? Did you need something from me?” 

“I… I just completely rewrote my final piece. I was hoping if you’d tell me whether you like the new one, or if I should just continue with the original?” 

“Violet, I’m grading this! You know I can’t tell you which one to play for your final. That would be like cheating, don’t you think?” Van den Bos said, “But if Dr. de Kuiper has a moment, maybe he’d be kind enough to give you his opinion? He has a good ear.” 

“Um…” 

“I’d truly be honored to listen to you play, Violet,” Siebren said, “I don’t have the time right now, unfortunately. I’m off to teach. But if you’d like to book a practice room, I could give you a hand this evening?” 

“I would appreciate that.” She wasn’t sure if she did appreciate it, but she couldn’t think of what else to say.

Siebren dug his wallet from his back pocket and passed her a business card. “The number on top is my office. If you can’t reach me there, just send a text to my mobile number underneath.”

A business card was normal, right? Anyone could have a professor’s business card. Van den Bos didn’t seem to think it was unusual. “Thank you,” she told him, clutching the card tight in her shaking fingers. 

* * *

What to wear? 

If it had been warmer, Violet could have pulled together something from her closet. She had some cute sundresses, maybe? But all of her winter clothes were baggy and hid every half-decent thing about her figure. She tried on dozens of outfits, the pile of rejects growing higher and higher on her bed. Why did she care so much, anyway? She did want to look nice while playing for Siebren, which she knew was so gross. He was a professor. There was no way he would ever be interested in her! And, on the off chance that he  _ was  _ interested in her, she would be so far out of her comfort zone that she would never know how to return that interest. 

Her roommate Cheri popped in, curious about all of Violet’s groaning and drawer slamming. “Are you going on a date?” she asked.

“No!” Violet shouted, a little louder than she probably should have.  _ Damn  _ she could not keep herself together. “I’m just going to work on something for class back at the conservatory. I should only be gone for maybe thirty minutes.”

“But let me guess?” Cheri asked, raising an eyebrow, “You’re meeting a cute guy there?”

“Sort of…” Violet muttered. 

“What size shoe do you wear?” Cheri asked, “Think you can fit a size nine?” 

Violet usually wore shoes in sizes eight or eight and a half, but she gave an uncertain nod. 

Cheri slipped away and returned seconds later with a pair of black, suede thigh-high boots. “Here, Vi. Wear these with that white sweater dress. You’ll look killer. You’ll definitely be thanking me.”

Was this going to come off as a little desperate? Would Siebren see her and be able to tell that she was trying so pathetically hard? But Violet wasn’t about to turn down Cheri’s generosity. 

By the time she finally arrived at the practice room that she had reserved, running late and working herself up into a flustered mess, Siebren was already there. Somehow, Violet had failed to consider how much smaller the practice rooms were than Van den Bos’s office. Why had she thought this would be a good idea? If their proximity had been nerve wracking then, it was tortuous now. Sitting in the little chair in the corner and waiting for her arrival, he almost took up even more space than the piano. His limbs seemed to stretch across the whole room. His broad shoulders seemed to spread the length of the entire wall. 

“I am so sorry. My roommate delayed me a little,” she lied.

“It’s fine, Violet,” he told her, and he offered her a little paper bag, “I had time to go grab us some stroopwafels. I admit, though - I ate mine while I waited.”

“Oh, wow. You didn’t have to do that,” Violet said, taking the bag from him in both hands, careful not to drop it as though it was a priceless treasure, “Thank you. Ugh! Now I feel even worse about being so late.” 

“Nonsense,” he assured her, “I don’t believe food is allowed in here, but I won’t tell if you don’t. 

She dropped her purse to the floor beneath the piano and slid onto the bench. “I won’t tell a soul,” she laughed, and she eased the top of the cookie out of the paper bag. It was warm and smelled heavenly, like cinnamon, brown sugar, and caramel. As she took her first bite, she gave a little moan of happiness and licked her lips. The sugar was probably the last thing she needed, considering her nerves, but she was so touched that he’d thought of her. “You know, before I came to study here, I’d never actually heard of these things before.”

“I hear that from all of our international students,” Siebren said, “They’re our best kept secret, I suppose. And my favorite food!”

“ _ Really _ ?” she asked, “Out of all the food in the whole world, you’d pick stroopwafels as your favorite? I mean, they’re delicious, don’t get me wrong!” 

“What would you pick?” 

She took another saccharine bite to give herself time to think, but the answer occurred to her right away - “Oh! It’s definitely pizza!”

“Pizza?” he repeated, looking shocked, “No way. It hardly compares. Should I order you Domino’s next time?” 

Violet giggled, and he laughed with her, too. She met his brilliant eyes. “Do you promise?” It made her happy and hopeful, imagining that there would be a next time. 

“Absolutely not,” he teased her, “I have more respect for my stomach than that. But there is a very good pizza place near Haagse Bos that you should try. You’ll never eat Domino’s again.” 

Feeling a surge of courage from how easy it felt to talk to him, Violet said, “You should take me there.”

Siebren’s eyes widened, which snuffed out her mood in an instant. She severed their eye contact, folding up the bag containing the remaining half of her stroopwafel and tucking it inside of her purse. She dug out her sheet music, arranging it on the stand, and she wished she’d never spoken up. In her whole life, she’d managed to squeeze out this one, single, flirtatious invitation, and it had been so poorly timed and inappropriate. The caramel now sat like lead in her gut as she swung around on the bench to face the instrument. 

When her hands moved into position over the keys, an almost magical thing happened - her anxieties disappeared. She never felt more at home anywhere than she did on the bench of a piano. What she couldn’t see was how the change in posture made her transform from a girl who was uncomfortable in her own skin to a woman who demanded attention. 

Violet explained, “It’s kind of a dark, unusual song. I was inspired by obsession, temptation, and feelings that are generally taboo.” She hoped this wasn’t giving away too much, but Siebren was no idiot. She fought the urge to glance over her shoulder to see the expression on his face. 

Before she could second-guess what she was about to do any further, Violet began to play.

First, the notes came out slow and steady. The fingerwork wasn’t particularly impressive, but something about the timing was unsettling, haunting even. Held notes were like hitched breaths or skipped heartbeats. As she played, the room, the school, the whole city - it all disappeared. It was just her and the piano, and Siebren’s eyes on her back. She felt like she was having an out of body experience, imagining him watching her. 

There was a small build in tempo, but it was nothing to prepare him for the crescendo - a cacophony of maddening noise as her fingers danced across a widening range of keys. She closed her eyes, her whole body swaying with the power of the climax. A climax? That's what it was like, she realized. This was the orgasm of the piece, the peak of feeling, the pleasure and the pain.

The melody dropped again, winding down but still full of adrenaline. The notes were almost jarring, her fingers stabbing at the keys. Her shoulders heaved with the effort of reigning it all in. Siebren stood; his shadow fell across her and the piano. She felt him move in behind her, the warmth of his body so close against her back. Between her legs, her body stirred, awakened by his closeness and by the dramatic turn of the music. As the last notes rang through the room, she was panting as though she’d run a mile. Her chest had felt so tight with unspoken emotion, but playing had allowed her to release all that tension, and now, finally, she could breathe. 

Violet twisted on the bench to face him. Due to their height difference, and the fact that she was seated, she found herself staring directly at his groin. Her eyes traveled the tremendous length of him, and she found his expression oddly blank, although his shoulders were heaving as much as hers were. She swallowed back her uncertainties and leaned forward, pushing her face into the crotch of his pants. Her cheek found the curve of his cock against his thigh, and between her legs, she  _ pulsed  _ with longing for him. When he didn’t stop her, she turned to drag her lips over the shape of him, her saliva turning the fabric dark. Even still soft, his size was astonishing, and she could imagine how impressive he would be hard, and how delicious every inch of him would be slipping into her slick entrance. 

Siebren pulled away from her, shaking his head. “This is a gross abuse of power. It cannot continue.”

She rose off the bench, nearly tripping over it in her hurry to throw herself at his chest. She grabbed fistfuls of his sweater, staring up into his panic-stricken eyes. “Please, just tell me… Do you want me the way that I want you?” 

“Violet.”

“ _ Please! _ ” 

He sighed and took her hands, prying them from his clothes. “How could anyone not?” he asked her. And he kissed her fingertips, the touch of his lips feather-soft, then brushed past her and disappeared out into the hall without another word.


	3. A Gift

It surprised Violet how the rejection did not devastate her. She expected her inspiration to fizzle out, her composition to be ruined, but all she felt was a push to work at this even harder. The days following their encounter had been a blur as she spent every waking moment perfecting her masterpiece. When it finally came time to perform her completed work in front of her classmates, she closed her eyes and remembered the shape of Siebren’s cock against her mouth and the way his lips electrified her skin. He had kissed magic into her fingers that night, allowing her to play with more ferocity and passion than ever before. Their touching had lasted for fewer than ten seconds, she would guess, but through her music she was able to stretch those seconds out. When her performance was over, Van den Bos and the class roared with applause. 

Winter break was soon to start, and Violet was preparing for a lonely holiday season far from home. Cheri would be flying back overseas after her finals, so the apartment would be quiet and empty until the next semester began in January. Violet’s parents had also offered to buy her a plane ticket, but she’d turned their offer down. Her feelings for Siebren felt like a parasite under her skin, and she feared facing her family in case they noticed the changes in her. No longer did Violet move about campus with her shoulders pinched in and her eyes to the ground. Her melody played in the back of her mind at all times now, and she marched to it with her head held high, somehow  _ empowered  _ by her lust. He wanted her. They couldn’t have each other, and he’d never allow her to get close to him again, but he wanted her. And, in  _ wanting  _ her, he had made her feel like a Goddess. 

She was in the university dining hall one evening, sitting alone and spooning soup into her mouth absent-mindedly while she studied for her Dutch final exam, when she was startled out of her notes by a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Siebren gave off an energy that was unmistakable to her, and his closeness made her heartbeat quicken. 

“Violet,” he greeted her, and the sound of her name on his lips was intoxicating.

“Siebren. Hi.” 

He had a briefcase in one hand, which he set down on the table beside her. For one moment, both horrible and wonderful, she thought he was joining her. Instead, he dug through his briefcase until he located a red envelope, which he slid under her fingers. She saw her name scrawled across the envelope in his tidy handwriting. “This is a gift,” he said, “for Christmas, but also because Van den Bos told me how spectacular your composition was. I wanted to congratulate you.” 

“I really can’t take this,” she told him, and she tried to push the envelope back towards him, but he put a hand on her arm and stopped her. Even this most chaste of touches was enough to rattle her senses.

“Please, Violet. Happy holidays. Take care of yourself.”

He snapped his briefcase closed and walked off without another word, leaving her shaken and uncertain. How was she meant to interpret this? Surely he didn’t give presents to all of his students? But if this was as taboo as it felt, then he never would have done it right in front of so many others in the dining hall --  _ right _ ? 

Drawing a breath, she slid a finger under the flap and eased the envelope open. On the card was an image of a nativity scene, with the Christmas star hanging in the skies above the manger.  _ Fijne Kerstdagen!  _ it said, which she knew, thanks to her Dutch course, meant  _ Merry Christmas.  _ Her hands shook as she opened the card, because she knew its contents would alter everything. Either his tone was friendly and innocent, meaning utter rejection, or his words would give her some hope to cling to. 

> _ Congratulations on your piece. Professor Van den Bos showed me the recording, and you were magnificent. Here is a small token of friendship. Merry Christmas.  _

“Ouch,” Violet said aloud to herself, and she felt her eyes prickle with tears. There was her answer.  _ Friendship.  _ That was all Siebren would offer her. She almost would rather have had nothing from him at all, just cool indifference - that would have been easier to cope with.  But there was something else in the card - two pieces of paper, folded to fit inside. She unfolded the pages and found a yellow sticky note had been pressed in between the folds. He had written a second message on this in tiny, cramped handwriting. 

> _ Are you familiar with quantum entanglement? In simplest terms, it is when two particles are an inseparable whole. Regardless of physical distance, their quantum states must always be described with reference to each other. They could theoretically be lightyears apart, but still entirely dependent. Any changes made to one reflect instantly, simultaneously to the other.  _
> 
> _ Love is a little like that, isn’t it? _
> 
> _ If I could calculate some way to make us work out, then you know I absolutely would. But love defies all science.  _
> 
> _ Please take someone else on this date that I cannot take you on. Celebrate your youth, your academic success, and your future. Move forward from this and do not look back.  _

Violet stared up at the fluorescent ceiling lights, blinking back tears. She had been able to tell, that night in the practice room, that he felt the sexual tension between them, but this confession was unexpected. It felt like he had both stabbed her in the back and breathed life into her at the same time. 

When she returned her gaze to the papers to decipher what the gift was, she threw a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. Printed out in front of her were two tickets to a local ballet’s performance of  _ The Nutcracker.  _

No longer hungry for dinner and studying far from her mind, Violet rose to her feet and began to pack all of her books and papers up. She was shaking, not from grief but from fury. How  _ dare  _ he give her something so beautiful? How  _ dare  _ he care so much? If he was only going to reject her, then how dare he do any of these things that just made her ache for him all the more?  She wished that she was the kind of young woman who could conjure a date out of nothing. She would have loved to dress in something stunning and glamorous and drag a new piece of arm candy past Siebren’s office until his heart broke. Instead, she knew that she would go to the ballet alone and feel sorry for herself, or maybe she wouldn’t go at all. 

Violet took out her planner, where she kept Siebren’s business card in a pocket. She slid it out to check his office location - room 318 in the science building. As a student of the conservatory, Violet had never been required to take a science class, but when she had been a new transfer student here, she had studied the campus map enough times that she had a rough idea which building it was. She stormed out of the dining hall, not bothering to consider what she would do when she reached his office. She would say  _ something _ , and that would either make things better or much worse, but either option would be preferable to this awful in-between thing that they had right now. This half-flirtation and half-rejection was torturing her. She’d rather lose it all than suffer a moment longer.

Violet hardly noticed the December cold as she stomped down the sidewalks. She felt untouchable. He had made a mistake by giving her this newfound confidence and power. The Violet that existed before that night in the practice room might have crawled into bed and wept over unrequited love, but that didn’t even feel like an option anymore. She would fight for this, or she would take him down with her. She questioned if she was acting crazy, and if she would be better off just letting him go, but  _ he  _ had been the one to write the sappy bullshit about love and quantum entanglement. There was something between them; they were two parts of an inseparable whole - he had said so himself! And that wasn’t a connection one just ignored.

The atmosphere in the science building was different from the conservatory. Dozens of students sat at tables in the entrance hall, chatting together and working on classwork. Music was largely a solitary pursuit, so there was no place in the conservatory where people congregated like this. So many of them were Omnics, too! There weren’t many Omnics pursuing degrees in music, because a lot of people still had old-fashioned and prejudiced feelings about Omnic musicians. Holograms were projected from the ceiling, displaying things like an atom, a strand of DNA, and a slowly rotating planet Earth. The sight of this all nearly drained Violet of her fury. It was hard for her to believe these two departments were a part of the same school. Maybe there was an alternate life where she had gone into physics or astronomy? And maybe there was an alternate life where Siebren was willing to take her to see _The Nutcracker_ himself?

She followed the flow of foot traffic to the elevators and rode up to the third floor, her familiar old anxiety beginning to settle in. Maybe she should have planned beforehand what to say? It was too late for regrets like that; she was here, presumably just feet away from the confrontation, and there was no time to plan anything now. 

Room 318 was the last of a long hall of professors’ offices, nestled back into a corner with 319 and a door to the stairway. His office was closed. Violet knocked and waited. Taped to the door was a comic, clipped from some magazine or newspaper, in which a professor stood writing what looked like unintelligible, nonsense scribbles on a chalkboard, and the caption underneath read “Astrophysics made simple.” She rolled her eyes and knocked again. 

When it was obvious that Siebren wasn’t inside his office, Violet sighed and reached into her bag. She took out a pen, and the second of her two tickets. On it, she wrote,  _ “If not you, then no one.”  _ She wanted to write so much more. She wanted to tell him how confused and scared she was, feeling so strongly for him when he was essentially a stranger. She wanted to let him know that she hated him and never wanted to see him again, but she also wanted to let him know how desperately she wanted him to see the ballet with her. It would have taken hours and dozens of sheets of paper to write down all the things that she wanted to say. Instead, she just shoved the ticket underneath his door. 


	4. Letting Go

Violet was torn. On one hand, she so desperately wanted to see  _ The Nutcracker _ , as it had been a decade since she’d last seen it with her grandfather. On the other hand, though, she was emotional over what had happened and a homebody at heart. A night of self care sounded more appealing - maybe a soak in the apartment’s shitty tub, some cheap wine, and a batch of freshly baked Christmas cookies? She even went so far as to buy the wine and the baking ingredients, but Cheri, mere hours from heading to the airport for her flight back home for the holidays, had caught her bringing the groceries in.

“Relationship trouble?” she asked.

“I’m not in a relationship,” Violet had answered, trying not to look as cross about this as she felt.

But Cheri, who had done enough romancing for the two of them, could see all the telltale signs in Violet’s expression and her recent behavior. “So my boots didn’t work, hm?” She managed to interrogate some half-truths out of Violet - that a man had given her a ticket to the ballet, that Violet was interested in said man, and that he had made it abundantly clear they were just friends. She made sure to leave out any details that might have suggested the man in question was actually a professor at their university. 

Once enough of the details were out, Cheri grabbed Violet by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Well, you need to snap out of it and just  _ go. _ ”

“I really think that'll make me feel worse…”

“Absolutely not,” Cheri said, “You go to the ballet. You wear the most stunning fucking dress you can find, do your makeup, throw on a pair of cute pumps, and turn every head there. Have your total Cinderella moment. Let some guys buy you drinks, take a million selfies, and just enjoy the experience. The world is full of single people who are living their best life every night. Do you think I met my boyfriend by going to the club with another guy? Hell no.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Violet muttered. 

“Hm. I’d loan you something, but every dress I have would be way too short for you. Oh my god, wait. I have an idea.” She scurried off to her room and returned half a minute later, thrusting a rather heavy garment bag into Violet’s arms. 

And that was how Violet had wound up taking a cab to the theatre alone. She wore the crimson high-low gown that Cheri had loaned her, and she had to admit that it did wonders for her mood, to make her entrance wearing something that made her feel so beautiful. It was a little lonely, to be milling about the grand lobby by herself when everyone else was with their significant other or gathered in small groups. It was a little sad, too - despite being a far nicer theatre, the whole experience brought back so many memories of her grandfather. She almost went to the bathroom to stuff toilet paper in her clutch, in case the performance stirred up too much grief and made her cry.

An usher looked at her ticket and guided her to her seat, one of two in an intimate, private box. She was in awe; the tickets must have cost a fortune. This was for the best, she realized, because, in the crowded rows below, the empty seat beside her would have stood out. Everyone nearby would have noticed and wondered about her missing companion. Trying to keep her confidence from faltering, because she could feel that it was, she took some pictures on her phone and sent them to Cheri - herself in the dress, the view from the box, the orchestra pit and packed audience beneath her. She wondered if Cheri would care. They weren’t even friends, just roommates who got along well. But Cheri did text her back with a row of emojis - a thumbs up, a pair of eyes, a tongue, and the sweat droplets - and it calmed Violet’s anxiety.

Another text came through - 

> _ Go get you some big fat D tonight girl. Forget that sorry loser _

Violet barked with laughter and threw a hand up to her mouth, horrified that she’d been so loud. 

“Violet?” 

The smile was ripped off her lips at the sound of that voice, and she turned in her seat to face the man who had just entered the box behind her. It was Siebren, of course, more handsome than ever in a sleek, navy blue suit. He didn’t look surprised to see her, but he didn’t look pleased to see her, either, and this filled her with cold fury. 

“Siebren.” 

He did manage a smile, although it didn’t reach his troubled eyes. “You look astonishing, Violet. I have never seen anyone or anything so beautiful.” 

Violet wanted to tell him that he looked good himself, but it felt inappropriate to tell a professor whom she was certainly not dating that she felt that way. She straightened the hem of her dress and stared down at her nude pumps, digging the heels into the carpet, as though she might open up a hole beneath her and fall into the audience below, escaping this uncomfortable encounter. “You were almost late,” she said, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

He lowered himself into the seat beside her. “I almost did not come.”

“Then why did you?” she asked him, “So you could hurt me even more?”

“Oh, Violet,” Siebren sighed, “I never intended to hurt you, but it seems that no matter what I do, that is all I can manage.” 

Violet felt the sting of tears in her eyes.  _ How fucking embarrassing,  _ she thought, and she hoped that the Dutch brands of mascara and eyeliner she wore happened to be waterproof. “I need to go to the powder room,” she said, and she snatched up her clutch and rose to her feet, fleeing the box and crossing the now-empty lobby. She took a flight of stairs down to the women’s restroom, which she was grateful to find deserted. Trembling with built up emotions, Violet braced herself against the sink and fought the urge to weep. 

Through the walls, she heard first joyful notes of the Miniature Overture as the orchestra began to play. 

Behind her, the door swung open. Violet jerked upright, trying to collect herself before the stranger spotted her, so that she didn’t look like she was having a breakdown in a theatre bathroom. But it was Siebren’s reflection that appeared in the mirror over her shoulder. 

“This is a women’s restroom,” she hissed at him. 

“What would you have preferred me to do, Violet?” he asked her, “I wanted to stay home, because I thought you might finally get over your feelings for me, but then I pictured you here, sitting in the box alone, uncertain and  _ waiting _ . I could not do that to you.”

“I don’t _want_ to get over you, Siebren,” she snapped at him, spinning to face the real Siebren instead of his reflection, “You don’t have to return my feelings. I’m not a child. I don’t have to be coddled. I would be perfectly content harboring this unrequited crush. I  _ like  _ the way I feel when you are around me. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a nobody. I composed something I’m proud of. I’m wearing a dress that makes me feel gorgeous. Having these feelings for you has improved my life, and it’s not up to you to tell me whether or not I’m allowed to have them. You said it yourself, right? Quantum entanglement.”

Siebren grabbed her then, his fingers digging painfully into her shoulders. She tilted her head back to look up at him, a jolt of terror passing through her. He was such a massive man, and so strong - if he wanted to, he could harm her so easily. And he looked like he might hurt her, too, with his nostrils flared, his brows drawn, and his teeth clenched into a snarl. 

But then his mouth crashed against hers, and his hands slid from her shoulders up to her cheeks, clinging to her face as though, were he to let go, he might simply float away. She stood stiff and quivering as her mind struggled to understand that _he was_ _kissing her_. Was this a dream? But his lips were so solid and warm and ardent against her own that she knew this was, somehow, all real. 

She closed her eyes and flung her arms around his shoulders, giving a whimper that he greedily devoured. Her opening lips welcomed his tongue, and all restraint was cast aside. His hands slid to her thighs, and he lifted her up onto the sink, their eager, slippery mouths never leaving one another’s. Her legs parted to welcome him in closer, and when his huge body pressed in flush against her own, she shuddered and sobbed. “ _ Please _ .” 

It was the same syllable she had uttered that night in the practice room, except this time, he obliged. 

His hand moved beneath her dress. Between her legs, her body pulsed with urgency, aching for attention from his long fingers. When he pushed the fabric of her panties to one side, he found her already wet for him, and the heat she gave off had all his blood rushing to his cock. He swiped his fingers up her slit and pulled his mouth apart from hers, so that he could lift his fingers and taste her. 

“ _ Oh fuck, _ ” she whimpered, and she grabbed him to pull him into another kiss, sharing her salt between their tongues.

His fingers explored her again, finding her clitoris easily, as it was pebble-hard and twitching against his touch. She moaned into his mouth as he began to stroke her. The quivering of her legs around his hips helped him find her preferred pace and pressure. He continued to kiss her, even though her mouth hung limply open as she breathed hard against his lips. 

“Please fuck me,” she begged him, her voice ragged, “Please. Please. Fuck me.”

“I will,” he promised her.

She clawed at his shoulders, as her body went tense from head to toe against him. Her legs locked like a vice around his hips. She was thrashing as the pressure built - both eager to chase the friction of his touch and simultaneously trying to jerk away. Still, he did not stop, his fingers working in a frenzy against her clit until her shuddering and rocking had eased, and she sank, limp and spent, against the sink.  He found her mouth again, but all she could do was pant against the pull of his lips and the sweep of his tongue. Ripples of pleasure continued through her, and even though she was weak from her climax, still, she pleaded with him, “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll die.”

“Anyone could walk in,” he warned her. 

“I don’t care. You said you would,” she replied, pouting, and she reached forward to tug at his belt.

He  _ had _ said he would, in the heat of the moment, but he would have promised her absolutely anything then, if only to feel her cum against his probing fingers. Still, he couldn’t deny her this, not when he wanted it so much himself. He shooed her hands away and unzipped his pants, but they returned with impatience, reaching into the fabric to pull him free. She wrapped both hands around his girth, taking in every impressive inch of him and committing the sight and feel to memory - the heat of his flesh, the beads of precum at the slit of his swollen head, the taut vein her fingers found at his base, the supple slide of his foreskin in her palms as she squeezed and kneaded. His hips jerked, a hiss escaping his grit teeth. 

Violet’s eyes met his, and they were  _ blazing _ . “Don’t you dare hold back.” 

He wasn’t accustomed to desire like hers; he was more familiar with electromagnetic radiation than with a woman’s flesh. But her urgency and passion trumped any of his doubts. He hooked his arms under her knees, dragging her body to the edge of the sink. Her entrance was dripping wet for him as he slid into place, and he gasped at the molten heat of her and the way she constricted around him, possessive and greedy. She mewled his name and rolled her hips, and it made him wild.  He drew out and slammed back into her, and together they both gave breathless moans of ecstasy. He repeated the motion again, then again, and soon he was drilling into her in a feral frenzy, her body bouncing helplessly against the cold marble of the sink, all the fabric of her gown flapping around their legs. 

Violet had never taken a toy or a man so thick or long. There was pain with her pleasure, and with every thrust, he pulled sounds from her that were lovelier than any melody he’d ever heard. The empty bathroom echoed with her noises, and the wet sounds of his cock grinding into her drenched depths. She stared up at him, her pupils blown wide and out of focus, her face flushed a blotchy pink. To him, she’d never looked more beautiful. “Fuck me! Yes!” she whispered, raking her nails down the sleeves of his suit, and then demanded, in a tone that completely robbed him of all senses, “ _ Cum inside of me! _ ”

So he did, spilling every last drop into her, and she could feel his cock spasm as he emptied himself. She rolled her hips, continuing to use him for her own pleasure, until the sensations on his spent cock were more torture than bliss, and he pulled free from her finally. Her folds were creamy with their combined mess of fluids, and she’d never felt more stuffed and content in her life, nor had he ever felt more thoroughly drained. 

She felt the absurd urge to thank him, but instead she just looped her arms around his neck and tugged him down for a few languid, chaste kisses. He kissed her back, tasting the sweat on her face and breathing in lungfuls of her bright, floral perfume. Then, like a slap to the face, his sense returned to him, and he recoiled from her, looking horrified. “I -- I should have used protection. That was so foolish of me. I don’t - ”

She pressed her fingers to his lips and silenced him with a sweet smile. “ _ Shhhh,  _ it’s okay. I’m on birth control. We’ll be fine.” 

He tucked himself back into his pants and then helped her off the sink, so that he could wash his hands and splash some water up into his face. While he did, she went to a stall to relieve herself. After what they’d just done, he was surprised by how intimate it felt just to listen to the sound of her using the toilet. Once she had flushed and washed her own hands, she wrapped her arms around him, unwilling to let go just yet. 

“That was fucking incredible,” she sighed, “Hands down the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. Ugh, I bet you bruised my cervix.” 

“I am sorry…”

She laughed and bit her lower lip in a way that made him dizzy with a fresh rush of desire. “No!” she said, “Don’t ever apologize for that. Come on, let’s go finish the show?”

They returned to their box, where both were glad to collapse in their seats. The orchestra was playing Arrival of Drosselmeyer, and the children on stage were watching with delight as the toy-maker’s inventions danced around the Christmas party. Siebren draped his arm around her, and she leaned in close to rest her head against his chest. She wondered how scandalized and disgusted the Violet from just a couple of months ago would have been to know what had just happened in the bathroom here. 

Siebren gave her shoulders a playful and affectionate squeeze. “Why are you smiling?” he asked, even though he was grinning, too. 

“Just enjoying the show,” she told him.

* * *

After the ballet was over, Siebren took Violet to get pizza, and she wondered if she’d ever been so happy in her life. She normally would have been a nervous wreck - in public with a professor she’d just fucked, way too overdressed for a pizzeria, on what was essentially her first date with this man - but she felt impervious tonight. Her usual anxieties felt a million miles away. 

Siebren had finally opened up to her, and he was so talkative! He seemed to know everything in the world to the most minute detail, and their conversation often went far over Violet’s head. She thought back to her last boyfriend, whom she’d dated as a freshman at her first college - a history major who had droned on about wars and political figures, often leaving her lost and bored. Siebren was nothing like him; he was animated and passionate about everything, and he wanted her to see the same wonder that he saw in the world, whether that was the chemistry of baking the perfect pizza or the significance of the 48-bar crescendo as the Christmas tree grows on stage during  _ The Nutcracker.  _ She could have sat there and listened to him all night. 

As he paid for their pizza, she fidgeted in her seat and sipped at her soda. “Siebren,” she said, and his eyes locked with hers across the table, as icy and clear as ever. She wanted him to invite her over to his place, but she didn’t think that he would. Instead, all she said was, “What should we do next?”

He gave her a sad, apologetic smile. “It’s bed for me, Violet. I have a call at eight o’clock tomorrow morning with a research partner in China.”

Violet knew it was childish of her to be so openly disappointed, but she made no effort to hide her pout. 

“Don’t give me that look,” he told her, his eyes twinkling, “Haven’t I spoiled you enough tonight?” 

“No,” she teased him, “Never.”

Their waiter returned then with Siebren’s change, and she had to wipe all flirtatiousness and desire from her face. They were just a professor and his very overdressed student out for a casual dinner. It was totally platonic, of course. She almost laughed, knowing how far this was from the truth. 

Outside, they hesitated on the sidewalk. Despite the chilly night, the streets were crowded with people still doing holiday shopping. They were jostled by the flow of passersby on the busy corner. “I apologize that I can’t be a gentleman and walk you back home,” he said, “but we can’t be seen by the other students who live there.”

“I understand.”

“Do you still have my card with my number?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Please call me when you get back, so that I know you got home safe.”

“Okay,” she muttered. She ached to kiss him goodnight, but she knew she couldn’t. Maybe she could risk a hug? Even a handshake would be better than nothing, to feel the warmth of his palm against hers… But before she could decide whether or not to attempt this, he had turned away, and all she could do was watch him leave her.


End file.
